My web of lies
by Republic of Yolossia
Summary: Peter Oxenstjärna and Franz Edelstein are agents operating in present day Berlin; their job: infiltrating and bringing down the worst gangs and criminals in the city. But a new, elusive, organisation- Commonwealth- is threatening to safety of the EU, and the world. The duo have to stop them, but the only way to do so could shatter Peter beyond repair. trnsea/ladkug. spytalia au.
1. Undercover

_Franz- Kugelmugel_

_Andrei- Moldova_

...

_I swear this is the last story I'll start (apart from the nyo robul I've promised to start)! I'll only be updating from now on, and will hopefully finish something this year. Another au between myself and tumblr user peteradnan, dubbed 'spytalia', following Sealand and Kugelmugel as adult spies and brother-in-laws. If you want to look through art on either of our tumblrs, simply type the word 'spytalia' in our blogs and you'll find it, though there are heavy spoilers. It's safe to say we're pretty excited and I hope this fic lives up to all the hype the art generated._

_So, pairings for the story! It's trnsea and ladkug focused, with side pairings of robul, luxmold, sufin, and some hints at aushun. And there are a lot of warnings too, so please avoid this fic if you dislike blood, guns, death (lots of death), ocs for both micronations and actual nations, poisons, car accidents, murder and nyo nations._

_If you're not phased by any of those, then by all means, continue._

…

"This is stupid," Peter grumbled as he tugged at his shirt.

"But necessary," Franz sighed next to him, hands firmly gripping the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead, wearing a grim expression.

"I know, I know, to get evidence and all." Peter sunk further into his seat, faintly admiring the snugness of the leather as their car glided smoothly across the tarmac. Outside, headlights danced across the rain-spattered road as traffic whizzed past and street lights glared down at them. This was a wealthy area of town, illustrated by the vast mansions they passed, with neat gardens and ornate gates to shut out the world. Few had lights in their windows, and Peter noted the unfriendly, derelict, presence most carried. He wondered how many of these dwellings hid criminals, smugglers and dealers who'd become prosperous from the illicit items they bought and sold, and murders they committed without a second glance, and promised himself that he'd flush them out. Every one.

But first things first. He already knew one possible criminal, and it was his job to catch the bastard red-handed.

He stuffed a pair of small pistols into his jacket, in secret pockets sewn into the satin that were almost undetectable if briskly searched, though a more thorough examination of his clothes could spell a death sentence. However, the chances were that that shouldn't be a worry, if what Peter knew about this man's lax security measures were correct.

"Do you remember the plan?" asked Franz, glancing over at him sceptically. The Austrian wore a glittering blue dress, his long hair tumbling down his back as diamonds dripped from his neck and ears and coloured contacts hid his lilac eyes. Foundation distorted his face into a feminine mask, altering the shape of his cheekbones- and hiding the small, recognisable mole under his eye- whilst eye shadow, blusher and lipstick finished the picture. If Peter didn't loathe him so much, he might even go as far to admit Franz Edelstein was beautiful. But he would never bring himself to pay his brother-in-law such a compliment.

"Of course!" he rolled his eyes, "I'll be fine. You just focus on keeping Im Yong Soo distracted as long as you can."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll manage that," he purred, playing with a silvery lock.

There was an awkward silence before Peter spoke up again.

"Fair play to you for doing this in drag though," he commented.

"Oh I don't mind at all," Franz chuckled, "I like being beautiful, it's art! People will be looking out for two male spies, not a man and his glamorous, female companion. Besides, it's not like the boss has many opportunities to make dresses."

"I don't think he should have any opportunities to make anything," grumbled Peter, lifting the bottom of his blazer to reveal a large darn in his shirt; "look at this! I mean, the clothes are quality and all, but he keeps running out of materials and using scraps! It ruins the image!"

"I can hear everything, you know?" growled a voice in his earpiece.

"Agent Patch!" Peter exclaimed, "I was just…"

"I know full well what you were doing, Agent Seagull," their boss, Andrei Radacanu, sighed, "can you please just focus on the mission?"

"Of course sir!" said Franz, and Peter scowled.

"Good. Oh, and Agent Seagull?"

"Yes..?"

"Try not to do anything stupid or reckless."

"Noted, sir." Peter stuck out his tongue, rolling his eyes and folding his arms in a sulk, deciding not to bring up the fact that everything he and Franz did for a living could be considered 'reckless'. Every mission provided a plethora of opportunities to be tortured and killed. Still, it was good pay so he wasn't going to complain.

"Shush, we're here," Franz whispered excitedly, pulling into a driveway bordered by high, white walls, joining the queue of expensive cars leading to an elaborately-decorated mansion. Unlike the others along the street, this house was bright and cheerful, lights shining through all the ground floor windows as groups streamed into the building. Peter let out a whistle.

"Well he's certainly been spending…" he commented as the pair drove past a marble fountain. The car stopped in front of the steps leading to the front doors, and Franz sauntered out, tossing his keys to the waiting valet and the two agents were ushered into the shining, crowded, hallway illuminated by a glistening chandelier. Peter handed their forged invitations over, smiling over at his partner.

"So, Miss Maria Héderváry," he began, using Franz's nom de plume, "ready to party?"

"Of course, Mr William Cook." Franz took his hand and led him into the main living room, where crowds of finely-dressed people were milling about, drinking and talking. Waiters wove between them with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, and in the corner, a swing band played lively music. Peter and Franz exchanged glances, nodding before walking off in separate directions, stopping to chat briefly with anyone who greeted them. They tried not to let their impatience show, especially since they weren't on any real time limit. Why plant suspicion on themselves for no reason?

Peter turned around to find Franz heading towards the buffet table and groaned, dashing after him.

"Oh no you don't," he hissed in the other's ear, grabbing his arm.

"But, torte!"

"Franz Gottlieb Edelstein, do you job properly."

"Fine, but please try to refrain from calling me Franz. Are you trying to give us away?"

Peter cursed his mistake, wandering off again.

Franz, meanwhile, picked up a slice of cake, ignoring the glare his partner threw at him from across the floor, eyes scanning the room for the host. He soon spotted Im Yong Soo, the millionaire in a navy-blue Prada suit, talking animatedly to one of his guests. Franz chewed his snack slowly as he considered his next move, watching Peter slip through a side door, unnoticed.

…

"Go upstairs and it should be the third door on your left," Andrei hissed at him, "from the plans on his computer, Agent Yogurt predicts what you're looking for will be there."

"Noted," Peter clawed at a lock of hair so it covered his ear piece, then weaved in and out of partiers chatting on the stairs, climbing up to the first floor. It was quieter here; even Peter's footsteps were muffled as he trod over thick, red carpet. The hall was dim and empty, everyone else gathered downstairs to be near the beloved host, hoping to gain the favour of such a rich and powerful man.

Previous, near-fruitless, months of long, dull observations, questioning and infiltration had provided mere snippets of Im Yong Soo's life, but Peter knew he was influential, having contacts in an estimated fifteen countries, smuggling everything from diamonds to drugs through Schengen boarders and selling them on to various gangs and crime rings. His latest batch of illicit purchase was what Peter hoped to find now, and what he hoped would provide enough cold, hard evidence to finally send Yong Soo to prison.

He stopped in front of the door, slipping on a pair of gloves and turning the handle. It was locked, much to his dismay, but thankfully not alarmed. Peter shrugged, pulling out a wire and getting to work.

…

Franz finished his slice of cake, tossing the napkin into a nearby bin and wiping his mouth before approaching the now-solitary Yong Soo. As he walked, he stuffed his earpiece into a little pocket sewn into one of the layers of his dress, so the other wouldn't see it.

He stood leaning against the fireplace, mouth pulled into a thin line as he looked down at his shoes. Franz frowned. He thought this was supposed to be a happy occasion. Was the man putting on a mask for his guests? Was his hospitable temperament hiding anxieties and fears? Were there already cracks in his rather infantile business? He put on a smile and approached the man.

"Hey there," he began, standing next to Yong Soo and brushing against his shoulder, "this is one hell of a party."

"You think?" Yong Soo broke into a warm smile, eyes shining, "thank you very much."

"Must've cost a lot," Franz commented, looking around whilst Yong Soo blushed and shrugged.

"A little, but I like to splash out, especially if it attracts sophisticated young ladies such as yourself." He winked and Franz smiled, placing an arm on his shoulder.

"Don't rely on your money to attract people," he said with fluttering eyelids, "surely your looks alone should be enough to leave you swamped by women, am I right?"

"Sure. Thank you, miss..?"

"Maria."

"Well, Maria, excuse my poor German, but you are very beautiful," Yong Soo cupped a hand under Franz's chin, tracing circles over his cheek with a thumb. A small wave of panic rippled through Franz as he wondered if his make up would rub off, revealing that telltale mole. But Yong Soo just gave a flirtatious smile, licking his lips.

"Thank you," Franz squeaked, suppressing a nervous giggle, taking the businessman's hand in his and placing it by his side, drawing nearer so his chest was pressing against the other's, "I am aware though."

"Confidence, huh? How incredibly sexy," Yong Soo purred.

"So, tell me about yourself," Franz drew away, throwing a coy smile in his direction.

"Not much to say. Born in Daegu, studied abroad in France and Switzerland, started my own business, travelled the world…"

"So you never settled down with anyone?"

"There have been people," Yong Soo sighed, "never stuck around long though."

"That's a shame…"

Yong Soo laughed, "I'm sure you don't see it that way."

"Not really," admitted Franz, taking two glasses of champagne from a nearby tray and handing one to Yong Soo. "Say, these other people are getting on my nerves. The place is a little crowded, y'know?" Franz wondered where he was going with this. All the mission stated was that he had to distract Yong Soo until Peter returned, but now he began to think he could go one step further. What if he lured the suspect into a false sense of security? What if he could subdue him somehow, interrogate him, and maybe even get a precious confession?

Yong Soo frowned, "well I can't get rid of them…"

"Never said you have to. What if it was us that left?"

"Are you implying what I think you're implying?" Yong Soo broke into a grin, tucking a lock of Franz's hair behind his ear.

"Maybe," Franz leaned forward, "is there anywhere we could have a bit of privacy?"

…

Peter finally picked the door open, pocketing his wire and slipping inside unnoticed, closing the door quickly after glancing around one final time. He found himself in a dark storeroom, packed to the brim with boxes and crates, few old enough to have gathered dust. Thin corridors snaked throughout the room, and moonlight filtered in through the tiny, translucent window, barely reaching the agent as he stood next to the door.

"Agent Patch," he hissed, "where should I start looking?"

"Everywhere," the voice in his earpiece whispered back, "it could be in any part of the room. We can't tell you any more."

"This might take a while then," Peter tiptoed over to the first crate, reading the label and shaking his head. Wrong date. He needed to find the most recent items, the ones that could only have been delivered a few days ago. He continued his search, glancing at labels as he snuck around the room, eventually finding a collection of suitcases marked with last week's date, in the back almost unseen. He picked up the nearest one, crouching down and balancing it on his knees, fiddling with the combination locks. After what felt like an eternity of desperate fumbling and picking, the locks finally snapped open, and Peter grinned. He lifted the lid off, revealing his prize.

"Gotcha," he hissed.

"Is it there?" Andrei asked.

Peter looked down at the rifle parts and boxes of bullets littered across the bottom of the suitcase, and nodded.

"Im Yong Soo's been organising gun-running," he confirmed, "there's probably more in the other cases."

"Do what you have to do, then get out. We'll pass the evidence on to the police and they can deal with him."

"Noted," Peter pulled out a portable camera and began photographing the parts, still feeling pleased with himself. So involved was he in his task, that Peter didn't notice the person sneaking up on him until a hand was clamped over his mouth and a pair of fingers attacked the pressure point above his collar bone. He tried to scream in pain, but the hand muffled any noises and they came out as pathetic squeals. His vision swam and he soon blacked out.

…

Yong Soo led Franz to his ground-floor office, the pair giggling and holding hands, slipping past others and ignoring their startled expressions.

The moment they stepped inside the large, messy room, Franz glanced around, taking in as many details as he could whilst Yong Soo locked the door, still cackling. The agent wondered how much he'd had to drink, as his voice was slightly slurred and he swayed as he walked, tripping over his feet. Easier to subdue, Franz noted.

His eyes ran over the faded green carpet and drawn blinds, squinting to read the labels on the files stacked on the shelves. It was a finely furnished room indeed, with an ornate globe, various paintings and a collection of ornaments included in the decoration. He glanced at the papers strewn across the desk, wondering if Yong Soo was too intoxicated to notice if he stuffed a few down his dress, but soon found himself busy, as the smuggler wrapped his arms around his waist, leaning against Franz's shoulder.

"Fancy something to drink?" he asked, walking over to the globe and lifting the lid up, revealing a collection of brandy and port. Franz nodded.

"Scotch, please."

Yong Soo nodded and poured him a glass, pouring one for himself too. He handed the drink to Franz, motioning for him to sit in an office chair whilst he perched on the arm. When Franz was seated, he wrapped an arm around the agent's shoulders, grinning.

"So," Franz began, a little nervously, "this is where you work?"

"Indeed," Yong Soo stretched, "kinda small though. Hoping to get it refurbished."

"Maybe I could help," Franz tucked a hand under his chin, crossing his legs to reveal a slither of thigh and beaming up at the other, "I've always considered myself an artist."

"Is that so? Well, I'll have to give you a call sometime," he leaned closer, "I'm sure, as an artist, you have a great deal of creativity."

"I like to think so," Franz suppressed another nervous giggle, mentally begging his husband, Lars, to forgive him as Yong Soo drew nearer.

His mind raced as he tried to remember where he'd stashed his weapons. There was a knife hidden in the padding of his chest, and he hoped he could get to it in time.

Yong Soo leaned over him, breath hot against his face and he scowled, deciding now was the time to act. There was a click and he tried to move his hand, but found it restrained by handcuffs. His head shot up in panic and he saw Yong Soo stand up, backing away and drawing a pistol from his blazer. He moved to stand, reaching for a knife with his free hand, but found himself staring down a loaded barrel.

"Just you try and move, Agent Edelweiss," Yong Soo growled, "I'll blow your fucking brains out!"

"I have no idea what-"

"Don't play me for a fool. Who else has long blond hair like yours? All I needed to do was rub a bit of make up off to confirm it. You're quite a distinctive young man, Edelweiss."

Franz clenched his teeth, not daring to reach for any weapon or gadget and praying Peter was having better luck. He settled down in the chair and snarled.

"Fine," he whispered, "I give in."

Yong Soo chuckled, "well, it wasn't like you really had a choice."

…

**I'm so sorry about this. Probably should've warned people to lower their standards before reading aha. Still, it'll pick up in later chapters when the plot gets moving and more characters are introduced.**


	2. Interrogation

_Nguy__ễ__n Kim-ly: Vietnam_

…

_I'm so, so sorry this is late! I've been having trouble writing lately, but ah well, here's a nice long chapter to make up for everything. This chapter's a bit more action-y, and contains a torture scene, guns, some blood, and violence so proceed with caution. _

…

It was his aching shoulder and the feeling of awkward discomfort that woke Peter up. He groaned as his eyelids struggled to part, opening one eye blearily and finding himself staring at a blank ceiling. He wondered if he was dead. The pain in his shoulder said otherwise. A second groan was interrupted by the snapping voice of someone a metre or so away from him.

"Oh stop being such a baby," growled Franz, still trapped in his office chair, now bound by cuffs on both his hands, keeping his arms fixed to the arms of the chair.

"What… happen…" Peter's head swam as he tried to form coherent sentences; luckily Franz seemed to know what he was trying to ask.

"We were caught. We failed. The world is coming to an end."

"Oh, that all?" Peter replied sleepily, looking around. He was slumped against a wall in a tiny, dimmed office, earpiece and hidden weapons gone, wrists and ankles tied together, arms behind his back and the cold plaster and hard floor pressing against his body uncomfortably. Someone had taken his blazer, tie and trousers, probably in case there were yet more weapons hidden cleverly inside them. Peter shivered in his shirt and boxers. His muscles were stiff and sore, and his shoulder throbbed, though his partner appeared to be having little sympathy.

"Don't look at me like that!" he growled, "you're not exactly in a better position."

Franz just shrugged, turning his head.

"Where are we?"

"Isn't it obvious? We're in the frozen foods section of Lidl!" exclaimed Franz sarcastically, turning back to Peter.

"I'm serious."

"We're in that bastard's office."

"I see," Peter glanced around; "speaking of which, where is Mr Gun-Runner right now?"

"Who knows?"

"How come you didn't get a strip-search?"

"One of his men tried, the one who brought you in, under Im Yong Soo's orders, but I kicked him in the jaw when he tried to unzip me. He punched me in return, but didn't seem to keen to try again. They took the knives and pistols though."

"That's a shame."

As if on cue, Yong Soo entered the room carrying a triumphant air, as well as an old suitcase. He was followed by two armed guards, who stood either side of him and glared down at the captured spies.

"You'd think the DSA would know better than to send such amateurs," he commented. The DSA being the Deutschland Schutz Agentur, or Germany Protection Agency: an organisation with bases up and down the country. The agency's mission was to locate, infiltrate and destroy criminal and terrorist groups that threatened national and international security. Peter and Franz were trained agents in the South Berlin division.

"Did he just call us amateurs?" Peter asked Franz, raising an eyebrow.

"Can you blame him?"

"It's not usually like this," Peter explained, turning to Yong Soo, "usually we're really good at this espionage shit. Must be having an off day. Can we try again tomorrow?"

"No, and I'm afraid it's this 'off day' that's about to cost you your lives;" he wandered over to his desk, setting his suitcase down and opening it. He nodded at the two guards to leave, and they marched out, probably to stand watch in the corridor.

Peter wondered how long he'd been out, and if the other guests had already left, but those thoughts were quickly pushed to the back of his mind when Yong Soo pulled a meat cleaver from his suitcase. The spy shivered, squirming as the blade glinted in the lamplight, but Yong Soo shook his head, placing it back in the suitcase and pulling out a lighter.

"Much better," he muttered, turning to Peter and walking slowly over to him, flicking the tiny instrument on and off.

"Pfft," Franz raised an eyebrow, "this is your torture? I've done scarier with my husband."

"Didn't need to know that, Edelweiss," complained Peter, staring at the lighter with distrust and dread, "couldn't you torture _him_ instead? It might shut him up."

"Oh no, I have a feeling you'll be easier to crack," he knelt down before Peter, who shuddered. He understood that he and Franz were on their own now. It was in the job description. If they were caught, they would not receive any assistance from HQ; no rescue mission, since they couldn't risk jeopardising more agents. He and Franz were pretty much disposable and would be left for dead, and they knew and accepted that when they'd first joined. They swore loyalty to the country, and vowed to never give anything away under interrogation, and even torture. Peter hoped he could live up to his vow.

Any escape plan depended on what he and Franz were able to do, which, under the circumstances, wasn't reassuring in the slightest.

"I bet you're wrong," Peter tried to wiggle away, but Yong Soo turned him around and grabbed his arm- wrists rubbing painfully against their ropes- and flicked on the lighter.

"Oh really? Well we'll have to see. I'm sure you'll soon be handing over the names of your colleagues, a few addresses even, valuable information I can go and sell on."

"Never," Peter managed to hiss out before hot flame licked at the sensitive skin of his lower arm. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out.

"Come on now. Who's your immediate superior?"

Peter bit harder as another piece of his skin was attacked, and when it happened a third time, he couldn't stop himself kicking out blindly.

"Come on now, who's your immediate superior?"

"Your mother" he hissed out earning a punch in the jaw.

"Where are you based?"

"I…"

"Yes?"

"Argh!"

Peter's mind was empty of rational thought. The only thing that filled his head was red hot pain and terror as he writhed in his spot, rope burns adding to his suffering. He let out a cry, much to his humiliation, but didn't answer the questions. He couldn't even if he wanted to, his mind was so blank.

"What is your real name?"

Peter screamed in reply.

Yong Soo growled, standing up and placing the lighter back in the suitcase before taking a meat tenderiser out of his makeshift torture kit. He called for one of his guards, who entered and took the instrument from him.

"I don't like getting my hands bloody," Yong Soo explained.

Peter squirmed as the burly man marched towards him, weighing the tenderiser up in his hands. He knew he'd not be able to get out of this. He'd be beaten unconscious, maybe even to death, and not receive one tiny shred of mercy. The only way to achieve that would be to betray the DSA- as well as the nation- and, quite frankly, he'd rather die.

But could he actually do that? Could he die a slow and painful death for a country he'd only spent 17 years in?

He didn't get the chance to find out.

Franz shot up, swinging the chair over his head so it came crashing down on the guard's skull. He crumpled to the ground, unmoving, and Franz turned his attention towards Yong Soo. The gun-runner picked up the cleaver, throwing it blindly in the spy's direction. Franz only just dodged it and the knife landed above Peter's head, electing a small cry from him. The man quickly pulled himself to his knees and began using the blade to saw through his ropes.

Franz kicked Yong Soo in the gut and he hit the desk. The spy followed by bringing the chair down on his stomach and he stopped moving, flopping onto the floor with a groan. The impact shattered the chain of one of the cuffs, and Franz used the tenderiser to smash the other.

With both his hands free, he turned his attention to the second guard, who'd just burst in. Neither paid Peter any attention as they exchanged blows, Franz having the upper hand. The young man succeeded in freeing his hands, and pulled the meat cleaver out of the wall to work on his ankles. But his partner was tiring fast, and a few missed punches soon left him vulnerable to counterattack.

The guard threw Franz against the wall, shoving an arm against his throat to keep him immobile.

"Grandpa Seagull," he hissed, "do something!"

"A little busy now," Peter called back, sawing through the ropes. The guard pressed against Franz's throat harder, and the young man's eyes bulged.

"_Pe-ter_," he pleaded, as the man pulled a knife out of the suitcase to finish him off. Franz just had time to throw his arms in front of his chest before there was a flash of silver and he bellowed in agony. Peter glanced up as the last of his ropes fell away to find his partner cradling a bloody arm, whimpering as he eyed the knife, pulled back and aimed for his heart. The agent jumped up, clutching the cleaver in two hands as he lunged forward and buried it in the guard's skull. The man fell to the floor as blood poured from his head, Franz joining him on the ground.

"Cheers," he muttered, still holding his arm. Peter said nothing as he crouched down to inspect it further, and found his partner had a large gash running down his lower arm, blood tricking onto his hands and dress as a large chunk of his skin flapped uselessly, hanging from the wound. Peter winced at the sight.

"And yours?" Franz asked, and Peter showed him the blistered burns covering his own arms. Now it was his partner's turn to flinch.

Yong Soo groaned, pulling himself up and reaching into his blazer. Peter ducked as a gunshot rang through the room, but the bullet, fired from a shaky hand, hit the ceiling instead.

"Run!" cried Franz, pulling himself and Peter to their feet. They burst into the hall, doubling over as more gunshots followed.

"Someone stop them!" Yong Soo cried, hobbling into the hall after them and shouting into his mobile. The spies dashed into the deserted hall, Peter almost crashing to the ground as he slipped over the polished floor tiles in his socks. Franz ditched his heels, leaving them in the doorway as the burst into the garden, eyes scanning the gloom for their car.

They found it sat in the corner of the car park, and bounded over to it, wincing as the gravel attacked their feet.

"You'll have to drive," Franz hissed, "I don't think I can use my arm."

"Right," Peter jumped into the driver's seat, picking up the keys left on the cold leather by the valet and starting the engine. Franz got in the passenger's seat and Peter began driving off.

"Oh shit," Franz hissed as he glanced out of the window to find Yong Soo limping down the steps, more of his men streaming past and filling two other cars, Yong Soo himself getting in the nearest. They'd just made it out of the gates when their pursuers started their engines.

The pair thundered along Berlin's empty streets, Peter's reckless driving causing several near crashes in his attempt to escape. More shot fired from the cars behind them and Franz fumbled for the mobile stashed in the glove compartment.

"Boss," he barked after hitting speed dial, "we have a bit of a situation."

"I guessed as much," replied Andrei, "after, you know, your earpieces stopped working and we didn't hear a word for five hours."

"Did you miss us?" Peter butted in, mounting the pavement for a moment in his distraction.

"Shut up Seagull," Franz ordered, "look, Agent Patch, we're in trouble, big time. Go to scenario 6."

"Right, Agent Yogurt," Andrei called, "scenario 6, now!"

"On it!" the hacker called back, barely heard by Franz on his end of the line.

"The Bodies will be ready seven miles south. They'll know where to find you."

"Right, got it," Franz hung up and turned to Peter. "You know what to do, right?"

"Vaguely," Peter admitted, wincing at his partner's glare; "don't worry. We'll just wing it!"

"I think I'll worry," Franz replied before the shattering of glass sent him ducking, curling up so his head was between his legs. When he dared peek up again, he found their back window smashed, cracks in the glass snaking with increasing intensity towards a tiny bullet hole. He gulped.

"Step on it, Grandpa Seagull!"

"Alright, alright!" Peter swerved into a side street, closely followed by the two enemy vehicles. They came out in a deserted commercial street, and took off in the direction of their rendezvous point.

"Will they be there?" Peter growled, glaring in Franz's direction for a second.

"The boss gave his word, didn't he?"

"It's still one heck of a gamble, on our part."

"All in a day's work" Franz winked, "we've been in stickier situations." He winced as the car screeched around another corner, nearly tipping over in the process. A few civilians- having heard the cars and guns approaching- ran onto the pavement screaming.

"I thought you Brits were supposed to be careful drivers!" Franz commented, clutching his seatbelt.

"Well that's what you get for stereotyping!" Peter shot back, "besides, I'm a wonderful driver, thank you very much!"

"Tell that to the cyclist you just knocked over!"

"Oh he bounced right back up!"

"I don't think he did," Franz nervously glanced back, but all he saw was a pair of flashy cars laden with gunmen speeding towards them. Peter briefly mounted the pavement again, knocking over a bin.

"This is how I'll die," Franz whined, sinking lower into his seat.

"Oh, shut up you ninny! Besides, we're nearly there so get the guns out!" Franz took a pair of handguns out of the glove compartment, stuffing one down his dress and keeping hold of the other. Peter swerved into a tiny opening, slamming his foot on the brakes as the car skidded to a halt in a tiny alleyway. Franz handed Peter the second gun, which he stuffed down his boxers, praying it didn't go off, then the pair stepped out of the vehicle with their hands behind their head.

The two pursuing cars had also stopped, Yong Soo standing in front of his posse, arms folded and mouth pulled into a smirk.

"It's a shame it had to come to this, Maria," he began mockingly, "but I guess that's how love works."

"Indeed," Franz replied.

The guards marched forward.

"Now?" Franz hissed at Peter, who shook his head ever so slightly.

"Wait for the signal."

They came closer; Yong Soo lingering behind, probably to keep him away from the bloodshed, and also to have a better view of it all.

"Can we afford to wait?" Franz and Peter were standing their ground, and one glance told Franz that his partner was shivering.

"The Boss won't let us down," Peter assured him, though he didn't look at all certain.

Franz closed his eyes, waiting for the first blow, but it never came. Instead, sirens ripped through the night air and the guards fell back, shouting and looking at Yong Soo uncertainly.

"Let's get out of here," he shouted, "it's the filth!"

The men hurried back to their cars, but the entrance to the alley was suddenly blocked by a screaming, silver police car and the two agents took that as the signal to draw their weapons.

Two blue-uniformed officers also drew their weapons as they jumped out of their car, firearms trained on Yong Soo. Behind them, more cars pulled up, carrying yet more polizei. Above them, a police helicopter roared as it hovered over the alley and one by one, the guards dropped their weapons, raising their hands in surrender. Yong Soo, realising he was cornered, soon followed.

…

"Thanks again, Officer Hassan, Officer Nguyễn," Peter said shakily, wrapped in a blanket and sat in the back of a police car, legs hanging out the open door. Franz stood next to the two polizei, letting Officer Hassan bandage him up enough to see him to A&E.

The police force worked closely with the DSA, but remained two separate organisations, the DSA being funded and managed directly by the government and the force controlled by the states. Whilst the police force alone were left to handle most criminal cases, the DSA were only called in when national and international security was likely to be compromised. Nevertheless, the DSA was unpopular with a large chunk of the police force, who distrusted their methods and freedom.

Officer Nguyễn just glared at him, nodding slowly.

"I really thought we were in trouble there," he admitted.

"And you nearly were," Officer Nguyễn replied.

"Kim-ly," Officer Hassan warned.

"I know that…"

"But thanks to you and your intelligence- and I mean that in the loosest sense- we've saved months that would've been spent looking for Im Yong Soo," Officer Nguyễn admitted, "so thank you."

Peter nodded, standing up; "so should we go to the hospital then?" He glanced at the police van, which had been loaded with the criminals and was about to drive off; "we seem pretty much done here."

"One thing first…" Kim-ly grabbed Peter's shoulder, flipping him round and slamming him against the car, keeping his face pressed against the roof as she stuffed his wrists into handcuffs.

"What the hell!?" cried Franz.

"I'm afraid I'm putting you under arrest," Officer Nguyễn told them.

"What for?" Peter hissed, tasting metal.

"Don't think we didn't see your reckless driving back there," the policewoman spat, "and our colleagues have informed us of that bloody mess you left at Im Yong Soo's house."

"That was in self-defence," Peter protested, wincing at the pain in his arms as the officer's clothes rubbed against his blisters.

"Are you seriously arresting him?" asked Franz nervously.

"Nah," Officer Nguyễn pulled away, removing the handcuffs; "just wanted to make sure he learns his lesson."

"What lesson would that be then?" asked Peter, rubbing his arms tenderly.

"Retake your fucking driving test!"

"Noted, now can we please go to hospital?"

"Of course," Officer Hassan sighed, "the sooner you get patched up, the sooner you can report back to your boss."

Peter and Franz exchanged anxious glances. Ah yes, Agent Patch. What would he have to say about all this?

…

**Sorry for all this I swear my writing will get better someday, with practice. Please tell me what you think!**


	3. Debriefing

_Alin- Romania_

_Agent Fondue/Luca- Luxembourg_

_Agent Magyar- Nyo Hungary_

_Agent Monte Carlo- Monaco_

_Agent België- Belgium_

_Tsvetan/Agent Yogurt- Bulgaria_

…

_Chapter three. Not as much action in this, but plenty of plot development. To be honest though, I thought it would be longer._

…

"This isn't going to be good news, is it?" Andrei Radacanu was an intuitive young man, and had a knack of knowing what people were going to say before they opened their mouths. Luckily, he was also equipped with the patience to let people finish speaking before arguing back, or agreeing, which made him slightly less difficult than he could be, much to the relief of those he worked with on a day-to-day basis. He had a strong spirit though, and a somewhat warped view on what was right and wrong, both courtesy of his older brother, Alin. Luckily, he hadn't inherited the older man's unusual fashion sense too.

Unfortunately, over the years, he had developed his own unique and- to those around him- embarrassing sense of style.

His dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he had a tiny, neat goatee on his pointed chin. A miniature hat rested on his hair, similar to one Alin wore. He was short, but not as aggressive as expected for someone of his stature. He was fiercely protective of those he loved and those under his care though. Andrei wore a brown, tweed suit that seemed to age him by twenty years. Though he'd never admit it, he wore it to seem more mature, since the leaders of the other divisions were far older than he, and he was afraid they wouldn't take him seriously if he didn't prove himself to be responsible and serious.

The man sat on the other side of him, Mr Beilschmidt, simply nodded. The tall, neat, and extremely serious young man was Andrei's link with the German government, and he respected the man greatly. After all, he wouldn't be sitting where he was without Ludwig Beilschmidt's help.

The pair had met on several occasions, ever since the taller man had visited his home in Chișinău and offered Andrei a job as head of the newly formed South Berlin Division of the DSA (with the original Berlin division now only in charge of North Berlin) after his assistance in bringing down several branches of the Bulgarian and Albanian mafias. Subsequent meetings rarely bode positive news, usually involving Ludwig informing of a new an even more dangerous mission to end his agents on.

"I'm afraid to admit that the government was considering forcing you and your agents into early retirement."

"What?!"

"Although," Ludwig continued, "I convinced them to give the DSA South Berlin Division one final chance, there are a few conditions."

"Why would they get rid of us?" Andrei gaped at him in horror, "my agents are highly trained professionals! And who would protect southern Berlin if we were gone?"

"Agent Patch, I'm afraid your agents have had one series of near-failures too many. And the North Berlin division would take over again, with a larger team to manage the city."

"But we've completed every mission set! Even if we're a bit unorthodox- quite ironic for me- we get the job done. So we've had a few setbacks?" he waved a hand airily, "hell, even tonight we've finally tracked down and apprehended the notorious Im Yong Soo!"

"And destroyed half a neighbourhood in the process!" Ludwig growled, "as well as injuring several civilians."

"Oh my God they let Seagull drive," Andrei rested his head in his hands.

"Whilst we applaud your success. Successes, even. We cannot ignore your shortcomings."

"I understand, but still! They can't do this to us!" Andrei cried; "these are our livelihoods you're talking about!"

"You're not jobless just yet," Ludwig gave a small smile, "like I said, you're getting one more chance to prove yourselves."

"Of course, thank you so much!" Andrei considered kissing his shoes, but decided that might be too forward.

"With conditions," Ludwig reminded him.

"Ah, right, and those are?"

"Firstly, you are to receive a new recruit. He has recently completed his training and will aid you in your upcoming mission."

"So the government's spying on the spies now?" Andrei raised an eyebrow.

"No, that's my job. Mr Luca Morgens, or Agent Fondue, is independent from the government, like the rest of you; I'll send you his file tomorrow." Ludwig sighed at the other's distrustful expression. "He's just here to help."

"Ah yes, and what exactly will he be helping me with?"

"That's the second condition," Ludwig explained, "you are to be working more closely with the North Berlin division, and you and Agent Magyar will have full authority over the agents in both your groups."

"I see," Andrei sighed, "you're not telling me what all this is for though."

"I'm just getting to that, Radacanu. The third condition is that you devote your full time to the 'Commonwealth' case."

"But Agent Yogurt's already devoting large portions of his spare time to assist Magyar's team. Have they seriously made no headway?"

"Not a lot, I'm afraid. And civilian casualties are still rising," Ludwig rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Agent Monte Carlo's brother was shot dead in his home a few weeks ago. And Agent België's brother was poisoned last year. They seem to have worked out some of the agents' identities and targeting their families, whoever 'they' are. Oh, that reminds me: Agent Fondue is Agent België's younger brother, so try to be sensitive to his feelings. He's still hurting. In fact, I think that's why he decided to go through the training."

"Revenge?"

"It appears so."

"That could make him dangerous," Andrei commented.

"And dedicated," Ludwig reminded him, "he's willing to lay down his life to stop Commonwealth."

"I see," Andrei sighed, "so will you send me the brief tomorrow? Then I can tell my agents everything. Right now, they need to rest and heal."

"They do indeed," Ludwig stood up, "You have a year to complete the mission, or it's curtains. I'm afraid you all have tough days ahead of you."

"Nothing we can't handle," Andrei assured him. Ludwig nodded, seemingly satisfied, and left. The door had barely swung shut when it was opened again by Peter and Franz, who looked very pleased with themselves indeed, despite bandaged arms and dishevelled appearances. Thankfully, Peter had thought to borrow a spare pair of trousers from the HQ's cloakroom.

'HQ' was the name given to one floor of an office building along the River Spree, opposite a similar building on the other side of the river that housed the North Berlin Division. The floor containing HQ was separate from the rest of the building, and inaccessible from the other storeys. The workers on the other floors weren't even aware of this floor's existence. The four, now five, agents of the South Berlin division accessed HQ from a secret entrance in the sub-surface car park, in an 'out of order' lift that brought them up. The interiors were modern, but humble, and agents enjoyed access to a cloakroom, gym, mesh room, first aid station for minor injuries, kitchen and toilets, as well as Andrei's office and some bunks, in case any of the agents were too tired to travel home.

"Look who's back, boss!" exclaimed Peter, striding around the desk to give Andrei a hug, who politely pushed him away.

"Sit down you two," he growled, "it's debriefing time."

"Well we did it, boss," Franz began breathlessly; "we got evidence, got Im Yong Soo behind bars-"

"Got captured."

The duo winced.

"It's happened before! But we always get out," Peter winked.

"You ended up in Accident and Emergency because you were both severely injured," Andrei glared at Franz. "And you! Letting Seagull drive an actual car! Do you have a death wish?"

"No, I was just simply unable to use a steering wheel," Franz held up his bandaged hand; "believe me when I say I was truly desperate when I let him drive."

"I'm right here, you know!" Peter butted in agitatedly.

"We're painfully aware," Franz rolled his eyes.

"Besides, my arms were injured too!" he held up his own arms, swollen and covered in plasters, "can someone please congratulate me on driving with second degree burns?"

"Of course, it was a very admirable feat," Andrei smiled, polite but warm and genuine.

"Damn right it was!"

"Nevertheless, we don't have time to celebrate," Andrei told them; "we've been given our next assignment and it'll take all we've got to complete it quickly and with minimal damage and loss of life."

"But-" Peter began.

"Yes, you both can have time off to heal. Then I want you on this case."

"It's not that…"

Andrei sighed, reaching a hand out and resting it on Peter's; "I know you wanted to investigate the Oxenstjärna incidents, but they'll have to wait. Our entire agency depends on the success of this mission."

"I need to know what happened to them," Peter muttered.

"And you will!" Andrei assured him, "but duty must come first. This country needs us, maybe the whole continent, even."

"But why is this mission suddenly more important than the others?" Franz asked.

"Because if we fail," Andrei told him gravely, "then the South Berlin Division will be shut down."

Before the almost certain onslaught of questions from the two agents could occur, the door to Andrei's office burst open and Agent Yogurt fell into the room.

"Andrei!" he cried, "something's… something…" His dark hair was sticking out everywhere, and there were tears streaming down his blotchy face. Even his jumper and jeans were dishevelled, and he wore a headset around his neck, ripped from its socket in the man's haste to reach Agent Patch. Agent Yogurt trembled visibly, shaking hands clawing at his cheeks.

"Tsvetan?" Andrei stood up, fingertips resting against the wooden desk, "what's wrong?"

"My hu… husband… he's…"

"Alin? What's happened to Alin?" None of the agents had seen Andrei speak so softly before, or so broken and frightened.

"He's… dead! Our children too!" And with that, Tsvetan collapsed on the ground.

…


End file.
